A Time for Breaking
by Shadewolf7
Summary: Lost in a world not her own, Buffy is given a second chance at happiness. Can she bring herself to take it?
1. Prelude

_All right, so it's back. Changed, but back. And I still don't own BTVS or LOTR, as much as I'd like to be able to claim them. They are the works of other creative geniuses. And I'm not entirely certain that's a word. Anyway... here ya go._

Prelude

She reached out towards the weapon before her—an ax-like blade attached to a long handle, the Scythe was beautifully elegant in a deadly way. The blade shimmered, the silver and red casting back the faint light as the blackened edge of the blade swallowed it. The shaft was of a silver metal, wrapped partially in thick leather for a better grip, and tipped with a wicked wooden stake.

The moment her hand closed around the shaft and the weapon easily came free of the stone, she just _knew._ It was hers—hers in a way that no other weapon had been, an extension of the _self_ of the Slayer. This—this was something that perfectly complimented her own mission, long ago forged with indestructable magics to kill the Demons, even to the Old Ones themselves, when in the right hands.

And hers were the right hands.

"Hey, Kid."

The all-too-familiar voice caused her to spin, raising the deadly weapon defensively even though she knew it wouldn't be needed.

"Whistler," she all but spat in return. She didn't need this—not now. Not after… _everything._

"Look, Kid…"

_xxxx_

Buffy wanted to deny it, but she knew in her heart it was true. All of it.

The First was here because of _her._

And this time, there would be no going back.

"For what it's worth, Kid… I'm sorry."


	2. Chapter 1

_I'm putting this chapter up despite the appalling lack of reviews on the prelude... I grant you, not many bothered to read it, but still... I was hoping for at least one! Anyway, it _did_ get fav'd, so I'm updating._

**Chapter 1**

"How is she?" Glorfindel asked quietly, concerned for the girl-child he had found unconscious, not far from Rivendell.

Lord Elrond glanced at his friend, "She is… Fading."

Glorfindel's eyes widened as the word sunk in. "How is that possible? She is a child of Men…" Sometimes Elves would Fade from grief, but the Secondborn were hardier than that… he had never heard of one of the _Edain_ Fading.

"I do not understand it," Elrond confessed quietly. "It is slow, far slower than it would be in an Elf, but she _is_ Fading… and even _athelas_ does nothing to restore her spirit."

There was little to be done for an Elf fading from grief, but since the _Edain_ were so soul-hardy, he had been hoping the restorative powers of the plant would help, at least a little. But it seemed that whatever tragedy had befallen her was enough to overwhelm even the strength of the Secondborn's spirit.

Glorfindel shook his head, "Is there nothing to be done?"

Elrond sighed softly—it pained him to lose one so young. "We can only pray, and wait. She may yet awaken."

_xxxx_

Awaken she did, alone in the dark, obscurely grateful for dimness and quiet. There was no threat here, not like Sunnydale, where even in her own house there was awareness evil nearby. The quiet… too quiet.

Not Sunnydale.

Where were the others?

No matter what they'd done to her, she still cared enough to worry, that worry breaking through soul-deep lethargy that sapped away her will to move.

She forced herself up, staggered to her feet, confused by the weakness in her limbs, and struggled to remember.

Whistler. The _shift_, and a sense of exhaustion like she'd never known…

Just her. The others hadn't been with her. They were safe… or as safe as anyone could be, in Sunnydale. The Powers would deal with the First.

She sank back to the mattress, absently noting that it was soft and comfortable in a small but airy room of a style she was unfamiliar with.

She couldn't bring herself to care. They'd tossed her out—after everything, after all she'd done for them… They hated her. All of them.

She didn't know how long she sat like that, watching the darkness shift to the light of early morning, uncaring.

Nothing mattered. There was nothing to fight here that she could sense, and no longer any need to worry about what her friends—if they could still be called that—would think. If she wanted to, she could cry for everything she'd lost, for the still-lingering ache of being torn from the only _true_ peace she'd ever known just to be thrown back into 'Fighting the Good Fight', as Wesley would put it.

But she couldn't bring herself to let go.

_xxxx_

That was how Lord Elrond found his patient—sitting, staring blankly in the direction of the wall without really seeming to see anything. He was caught between relief that she had woken and sadness that her reaction to his arrival was the same that he would expect from a Fading Elf.

"My name is Elrond, little one," he said gently, moving to the bedside with easy grace.

She looked at him and there was a brief flicker of something in her eyes, that faded as quickly as it had come.

"What is your name, child?"

The flicker returned, a spark of life and fire that he was grateful to see. Perhaps there was hope for this one, yet.

"Buffy. Not 'child'. Buffy Summers."

Ah. Even Fading, the little one had spirit. Elrond smiled, testing the name aloud, hoping to draw her into conversation. "Buffy… an interesting name. What does it mean?"

She looked at him as though he were slightly mad, "It's just my name."

She seemed to be losing interest, and Elrond suppressed a sad sigh. "You have neither eaten nor drunk anything for two days, _tithen_ _pen,_ I will send for food and drink. Even if you do not feel hungry, try to eat something."

She nodded, accepting amiably enough.

Elrond left it at that, able to see she wished to be alone and knowing that if there were one to help her, to stop her slow Fading, it was not he. Perhaps Glorfindel would fare better in getting the child to speak. At least then they might know _why_ she was Fading…

"I will return shortly."

_xxxx_

After eating, Buffy had to admit to herself she felt a little better. Well, _stronger_ at any rate. The haze of uncaring depression that had clouded her every thought since being told they'd be safe with the knowledge that they just _didn't care_ anymore… She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them.

She could start over, here…

And yet, it still hurt so _damn_ badly…

And this place was so quiet, so peaceful.

Come to think, that peace could be a problem. What was a Slayer to do without a good fight every once in a while?

A tap at the door broke through her disjointed thoughts, and she glanced up to see a stranger standing in the doorway.

She blinked. Like Elrond, there was a faint glow about this one, like starlight. A light that touched nothing but the figure himself.

"Yeah?"

The stranger stepped into the room, giving her a good look at him. Impossibly handsome—even _pretty_—golden-haired and tall, with vaguely pointed ears and clear blue eyes.

Yup. No _way_ were these guys human.

"Hello, _tithen pen,_" the guy greeted gently.

That was the second time she'd heard that term. She hadn't cared to ask, before, but now that she was feeling a little more like herself… "What does that mean?" she asked, then added, "And who are you?"

"I am Glorfindel, and _tithen pen_ means 'little one'."

Buffy felt herself bristle, "I'm not _that_ short."

Glorfindel's laugh was bright and full of joy, bringing an involuntary smile to Buffy's lips.

"I'm Buffy. Buffy Summers."

_xxxx_

When Glorfindel left, it was with a strange sense of frustration. Though the child had spoken to him, he didn't actually learn anything of importance—namely, how to help her.

Glorfindel had always been fond of children, and the little one—though she was not a child according to Men—struck a chord in his heart. He had been gratified to see her smile, however small and brief, and pleased when she showed spirit.

"_Mellon nin,_" a familiar voice greeted, "You have met Buffy Summers."

Glorfindel turned to face Elrond, who had long been his friend. "Yes. She is… interesting."

"Her Fading slows further with her waking," Elrond observed. "There is hope for the little one, yet."

_xxxx_

Buffy got up, curiosity finally filtering through her ennui, and began to explore the immediate vicinity of 'her' room.

She wandered the open hall for some time before noticing something below. Glorfindel and another… Elf—she was still having some trouble getting her mind around that one—practicing in what appeared to be a training ground.

A few minutes watching was enough to have her itching to go down there and spar with them.

She absently vaulted off the edge of the second-story balcony, flipping once and landing lightly on her feet.

Both of them nearly dropped their weapons, spinning to face her in shock as she fell and staring in stunned amazement at her landing.

"Hey," she said brightly, "Glori—can I play?"

Glorfindel blinked, unaccustomed to being called 'Glori' and shocked at Buffy's easy two-story jump. "How did you…?" he glanced up at the balcony Buffy had leapt from.

Buffy followed his gaze and winced a bit, "Oh. That. Habit, sorry."

Glorfindel glanced at his companion, who mouthed _'habit?'_ incredulously.

"I just—it was the fastest way to get down."

Glorfindel shook his head, bemused. "Ah, Erestor, this is Buffy Summers, a guest. Buffy, this is Erestor."

"Hey," Buffy greeted, "So… can I play?"

"Play?" Erestor asked cautiously.

"Yeah, you know, spar. Haven't had a good workout in _days._"

Glorfindel and Erestor exchanged a cautious glance, "Are you certain?" Glorfindel asked. "You were very ill."

Buffy brushed off his concern, "I'm fine. Up for a good spar. I'll warn you, though, I haven't used a sword in a while." She thought about that. "And I don't actually have a sword, anyway."

Erestor stepped forward with a small smile, holding out his weapon, "You may borrow mine."

Buffy took the weapon with a smile, "Thanks!" she said brightly, before testing the two-handed, double-edged blade with a few practice swings, alternating hands before trying two handed, then switching back to her right hand, easily holding its weight.

Glorfindel nodded to Erestor, who backed away, then called "Begin!"

Both Elves expected the spar to be brief.

They were shocked at how very wrong they were.

_xxxx_


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Within two sword-swings, the spar became a dance, back and forth across the training field. Glorfindel had experience, but the girl was far stronger than he had expected, proved when she used her one-handed grip to block a two-handed overhead strike with no sign of strain, then pushed him back with brute force.

And she was both creative and quick. Every time he thought she was pinned she would do something ridiculously surprising to break free.

Back and forth.

After several minutes, Glorfindel noticed something else about his opponent—not only was she stronger than he, she was not tiring. Or, if she were, he could not see it.

Finally, there was a break, and Glorfindel disarmed his opponent, brought his sword in with the intent of stopping it at Buffy's throat—when her hands came up, catching the blade between her palms, quickly followed by a foot, which kicked the blade out of his hand, flipping it up.

Buffy caught it and turned it on him, barely breathing hard and wearing a broad grin.

Glorfindel of Gondolin had been bested—by a child of Men.

He was not the only shocked party and Buffy tossed the blade up, caught it, and handed it back to him. "Thanks! That was the best spar I've had in _years!_"

Glorfindel's shock faded to the background as he realized her eyes sparkled, her grin lighting up her entire face.

She seemed _alive._

He couldn't help but smile back.

"You are good," he observed.

"Unconventional," Erestor added, coming forward for his weapon.

"Thanks, I think," Buffy picked up his sword and handed it over. "Kinda had to be, back home…"

Home brought unhappy thoughts, and Buffy trailed off.

Glorfindel frowned at the sudden change in mood, concerned.

"_Tithen pen?_"

And green eyes sparked with a bit of fire, "I'm _not_ that short."

"What troubles you, Lady Buffy?" he asked as Erestor glanced back and forth between the two, a frown furrowing his brow.

"I—" she broke off, glancing at Erestor, "You know what? I don't really want to talk about it right now."

Erestor decided it was time for him to leave, "I must get back," he stated, "Glorfindel, Lady Buffy."

Buffy blinked at his retreating form. "That was… abrupt."

Glorfindel hid a smile, "I believe he thought his presence made you uneasy."

Buffy sighed, "A little, but…" she trailed off again, dark thoughts of home surfacing. She shook them off.

The Scoobies would be fine without her. They had Faith. They'd lasted without her before. And the Powers had promised to deal with the First. And they'd made it clear they didn't want her there.

Whistler had said he'd inform them of her death at the First's hands. That there was to be no bringing her back this time.

They wouldn't be looking for her.

_Not that they would have, anyway,_ she thought bitterly.

"Lady Buffy?"

She glanced up, broken back out of her disparaging thoughts, and saw concern in blue eyes.

"I'll be fine," she stated roughly, looking away. "And drop the 'Lady' bit. I'm no lady."

"What troubles you so?"

Buffy had no intention of answering, and opened her mouth to say so—but his honest concern touched something inside her that had been let alone for far too long. She found herself spilling the tale of what had happened with her friends and her sister, people who had stood by her for so long, people she had _died_ for, throwing her out when facing the greatest danger they had ever come upon.

She knew what she said couldn't make much sense to someone who didn't know everything about their history and the Slayer, but he understood the pain. And he didn't question further, letting her tell only what she wanted to.

It was enough… for now.

_xxxx_

This time, when Glorfindel left the little one, it was with a sense of confusion and sadness.

He did not understand much of what the child had said, but he understood that her friends and family had cast her out for a reason she did not fully know. It sounded as though they had blamed her for things that had gone wrong outside of her control.

And it had hurt her deeply. In some ways more deeply than their deaths would have.

Could this be the reason she was Fading? Or was there a wound deeper still in her soul?

He needed to seek Elrond's counsel.

_xxxx_

Buffy, rather than staying in her room after Glorfindel escorted her there and left, took only a few minutes to freshen up a bit before heading back out to explore—this time using such conventional methods as stairs.

The soul-deep weariness had finally lifted, and though she was by no means _happy—_too much had happened to be happy so soon—she was at least feeling a bit more like herself.

The spar had worked wonders, and as long as she could keep her thoughts away from Sunnydale and everything that had happened there, she felt she could start over.

She made her way down to the gardens and wandered quietly between softly flowering trees, idly reaching out to cup a falling blossom, marveling at the perfection of the five-pedaled flower not quite like any she had seen before, accidentally pricking a finger on a thorn hidden at the base.

She stared at the drop of blood welling up as the white flower slipped from between her fingers to flutter to the ground.

_It's always about the blood, Slayer._

Buffy bolted, trying to shake away the echoes of her past, running as fast as her Slayer abilities would allow, fleeing for the woods on pure instinct.

_xxxx_

"_Mellon nin,_" Glorfindel greeted from the doorway of the study, the tone of his voice indicating that he had something serious to discuss.

Elrond set aside his quill, turning his attention to his old friend. "Glorfindel," he returned, "What troubles you?"

"The child," he sighed, "She spoke to me of her home and family…"

Elrond raised an eyebrow as the other Elven Lord trailed off, "And this troubles you?"

"They cast her out," Glorfindel stated bluntly, "for a reason that was no fault of her own, while facing great evil that she only sought to defend them from."

Elrond's brow furrowed, "That is grave news. What evil did they face?"

The golden-haired Elf shook his head, "I dared not ask. I understood little of what she said, but that she spoke at all… it was like drawing poison from a wound. I did not wish to frighten her away."

Elrond nodded, "Perhaps it is for the best. If she is willing to speak with you, she may yet tell you more of her troubles."

"I fear what she may say," Glorfindel confessed quietly, "Though being cast out hurt her deeply, I fear some wound in her soul is deeper still. I can see no other cause for her Fading… and what could be so terrible as to break one of the _Edain's_ spirits?"

"I do not know," Elrond murmured pensively, "and I fear you are right. Something far more terrible must have happened to wound her _feä_ so."

Glorfindel turned as Erestor came all but flying into the room, clearly worried. "The child—she was in the gardens. I know not what happened, but something caused her to flee into the wood, running near as swift as Asfaloth."

Elrond stood, a worried frown crossing his face, and Glorfindel's eyes widened in alarm. "I will find her," he vowed.

Elrond paused, then nodded. "You are willing to do this, then?"

"Yes," the golden Elf-Lord stated resolutely, "I feel… responsible for her."

"Then go—and hurry. She does not know her way, and if she crosses the River…"

Glorfindel understood the implication well and immediately made for the stables, seeking Asfaloth.

_xxxx_

_*Asfaloth—Glorfindel's horse. I know in the movies, Arwen had him, but I'm maintaining that he's Glorfindel's. Arwen just borrowed the fastest horse they had as far as I'm concerned._


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Buffy stumbled to a halt as she reached a river, bending to place her hands on her knees, breathing hard for the first time in quite a while. She hadn't sprinted in quite a while, not usually having to go much past her easy run speed of about twenty-five miles per hour, even when chasing vampires.

As soon as her breathing slowed a bit, she straightened and turned to walk alongside the river, idly debating whether or not to jump it where it narrowed up ahead. The jump would be a long one, even for her, but with Slayer abilities, it wasn't beyond her.

And she felt the very faintest tingle warning of something bad in that direction—either something _really_ bad a few miles off or a little baddie closer in. Hard to tell.

Decision made, she broke into a jog, then a light run before leaping the river gracefully and landing on one of the boulders on the far side. She paused for a moment, getting a directional fix on the baddie, then bounded down from the stone and headed out at a steady jog, conserving her energy for a fight.

_xxxx_

Glorfindel frowned as his sharp eyes picked out the tracks leading into the wood beyond Imladris—the spacing indicated that the child had been moving at impossible speed. He knew now that Erestor had not been exaggerating when he had said the girl had been running near as swift as Asfaloth.

He gently pressed the white stallion into a canter, following Buffy's trail into the forest and praying the child had stopped ere she reached the river. If she had passed into the Wilds at such speed, it could be days before he found her.

And she had left unarmed.

There were things in the Wild that no one could face unarmed—Wargs and worse roamed those hills.

He urged Asfaloth to a gallop.

_xxxx_

When Buffy sighted the things that had set off her 'spider-sense', she was reminded of demon hyenas and the debacle with Xander and the pack of hyena-people and the whole 'eating of Principal Flutie' thing.

Only these were a lot bigger than the hyenas at the zoo. Not to mention there were seven of them.

Time to test out her skills with the Scythe—for once, she was glad of Whistler as she summoned the mystical weapon to herself and went on the offensive.

_xxxx_

Glorfindel slowed Asfaloth as they reached the river, following footprints where Buffy had walked before speeding up again—not as fast as before, but at least as swiftly as an Elf could run if in haste.

His brow furrowed in worry and confusion as the trail veered suddenly towards the river at a narrower point—had she jumped into the water?

But no—there, on the far bank, beside a boulder, her footprints again.

That leap should have been impossible—from bank to boulder, clearly, then off and into the Wilds.

Asfaloth could not make that jump, for the boulder was too slick for even the best horse's hooves to find purchase.

At the lightest touch, the great stallion wheeled about and set off at a dead gallop for the ford. The child had to be located—past the river, there was no telling what dangers might find her.

_xxxx_

Buffy quickly lost herself in the fight in a way that only a Slayer could. Though there were seven of them, they couldn't come at her all at once—they were too big for that. She would only have to face three or four at a time and they didn't exactly strategize.

The first fell quickly, its spine severed, and the second followed with a quick beheading.

Evil they might be, but they were still only animals.

Sensing one behind her, she reversed her grip on the shaft of the Scythe and thrust backwards, stabbing the creature with the stake on the end and listening to the pained snarl in satisfaction before spinning and slashing out with the blade, opening the beast's throat.

Four left.

These four were more cautious, after seeing their pack-mates slain, and circled warily before one broke formation and rushed her.

Buffy flipped up over its back, lashing out with the Scythe, scoring a deep hit along the creature's flank.

It howled in rage and pain, spinning to face her—and, as though that were some kind of signal, the other three sprang forward.

The fight became a blur, two of the beasts falling under the Scythe before the wounded one ended up catching an overhanded chop with its skull.

It fell, but the last attacked, forcing her to let go of the embedded Scythe and face it unarmed.

_xxxx_

Glorfindel's sharp ears caught the howl, not far off, and he immediately aimed Asfaloth in the direction of the sound, "_Noro lim,_" he commanded.

The horse sprang forward.

_xxxx_

The hyena-thing lunged, and Buffy did the only thing she could think of—she jumped straight up, twisting midair to land on the creature's back, and reached forward to grab its head. And twisted with all her Slayer-strength, snapping its neck.

The beast collapsed beneath her and Buffy climbed off its back, glancing down at her now-bloodstained shirt, somewhere between grateful that they'd left her clothes in her room so she'd been able to wear something familiar to fight in and annoyed that she'd ruined her _only_ set of clothes.

Shrugging off the irritation, she headed over to pull the Scythe out of the downed whatever-it-was' skull and stabbed the stake-end down in the dirt to get the worst of the blood off. That part of it was really built for vampires, not things that bled.

She'd dunk the whole thing in the river later—fortunately, the magical weapon couldn't be water-damaged.

Shrugging, she pulled the weapon out of the dirt as she heard hooves approaching at a rapid pace from the direction of the river, half-turning to face the sound.

_xxxx_

Glorfindel gasped at the scene he came upon.

Buffy stood, back half to him, her head turned so that she could see him out of one eye, blood liberally splattered across her face and clothes, a weapon unlike any he had ever seen held in an easy one-handed grip, seven dead Wargs scattered around her.

He dismounted to approach her quickly, shocked and concerned, "_Tithen pen?_"

It was as though a spell had been broken. The girl turned to face him fully, showing it was only one streak of blood on the side of her face that he had been able to see, though her shirt certainly had seen cleaner days. "Glori," she greeted.

He overlooked the form of address, "Are you injured, L—Buffy?" he caught the 'Lady' at remembering her request.

She shook her head, "I'm fine."

He searched her eyes for a moment, but she was telling the truth. Physically, she was unharmed, but there was something in the way she held herself…

"How did you do this?" he couldn't help but ask, gesturing to the dead Wargs. Seven of them. Seven! Even he would be hard-pressed against so many at once alone.

Buffy glanced around, seemingly puzzled. "Oh, the hyena-things?" For a brief moment, the strange weapon sang as she spun it almost absently, "It's just what I do."

Glorfindel frowned—he was not going to let this go so easily. She could have been killed!

_xxxx_

_Here you few readers go. Maybe I'll get more as time goes on?_


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

It was the concern, Buffy decided. It had to be—the deeply worried look in blue eyes was what had gotten her to crack, to tell everything. Well, that and remembering what Whistler had said about the people she'd find herself with at first.

"_They won't judge you, Slayer. You can trust them."_

The not-judging thing would definitely be of the good. It had been way too long since people hadn't judged her…

"_Ai_, _tithen pen,_" Glorfindel's response after she had finally finished her tale was sad and he did something she hadn't really expected him to do. He opened his arms, offering a hug to the dirty, bloodied Slayer.

A step, then another. And Buffy threw herself into the offered embrace, barely holding back tears after reliving everything that had gone so very wrong…

_xxxx_

Glorfindel was at a loss as he looked down at the girl slumped in front of him on Asfaloth, wondering if there was anything he could do or say to help her. She had fallen asleep fairly quickly and remained so as they approached Imladris.

He considered waking her, but decided against it. Between the run, the fight, and the telling of her tale, Buffy was exhausted. Though she could use a bath, she needed the sleep more.

Glorfindel dismounted cautiously, gathering the child into his arms and being careful not to jostle her awake as he allowed the _Edhel_ who had come from the stable to take Asfaloth from him.

The younger Elf in question opened his mouth, concern clear in his eyes as he sighted the bloodied form in the Elf-Lord's arms, but Glorfindel shook his head, warning for silence.

"_He mae,_" he said quietly.

Accepting the reply to the unasked question, the Elf nodded and led Asfaloth away.

Glorfindel turned towards the main house, cradling his precious burden against his chest, glancing up the first set of stairs to see Elrond heading towards him, alarm in his stance.

"_He mae,_" he repeated, just loud enough for Elf-ears to catch. "_He_ _lhom,_" he added, by way of explanation.

The anxiety dropped out of Elrond's stance—he trusted his friend's judgment, despite the blood visible on the child's clothing.

"I will put her to bed," Glorfindel murmured quietly as he ascended the stairs. "She can bathe when she wakes."

"What happened?" the Lord of Imladris asked, matching his tone to his friend's.

"Some of that tale is hers to tell," Glorfindel admitted, "but she faced seven Wargs in the edge of the Wilds. Before I arrived, she had slain them all."

"Seven?" Elrond glanced at the golden-haired Elf beside him, "How?"

Buffy stirred at the raising of his voice and Elrond fell silent.

"_Sîdh, tithen pen,_" Glorfindel soothed as she shifted in his arms.

Seeming to recognize the voice, the child stilled, settling back into sleep as a subtle surge of Elven magic urged her to rest.

Elrond blinked, surprised at the exchange. Trust was necessary for that particular talent to work, and he had never seen Glorfindel use it before. That there was already such a bond between the two near-strangers was remarkable to say the least. And it did not seem that Glorfindel even realized what he had done…

_xxxx_

"What happened?" Elrond asked quietly once the child had been put to bed, eyes fixed on the gardens below his study's window while his attention remained on his fellow Elf-Lord.

"I do not fully know," Glorfindel admitted. "She is swift, her tracks tell as much—near as swift as Asfaloth at the least. She came upon the Wargs in the edges of the Wild alone. I knew she had skill with a blade—she bested me this morn—" the confession was slightly chagrined, "but I have never seen the like of the weapon she held when I came upon her amongst the dead beasts."

"She left weaponless," Elrond turned to face his friend, startled.

"She did," Glorfindel agreed. "Or, rather, we believed she had. From what she has said, this weapon was forged with magic, and is bound to her. She may show it to you, if you ask her."

Elrond nodded, setting aside the topic of the weapon for another time. "She Fades, still," Elrond pointed out, "yet it is lessened. Has she spoken to you?"

It was Glorfindel's turn to nod, a shadow passing over his face. "She is not of this world," he stated, "though we suspected it…"

Elrond silently conceded the point. Sent from another world… it was a daunting prospect.

"… from what she said, her Fading could simply be from being torn so roughly from her realm. She was bitter when she spoke of those that watch over her world, as the Valar do ours. They are not gentle watchers."

Elrond glanced sharply at his friend, eyes sparking, "They tore her from her realm in such a way as to damage her _feä?_" The Valar would never do such a thing. That _any_ charged with watching over a realm would do so was… _thuar_, at best.

"It is the only explanation," Glorfindel stated darkly, "She told me of her world and her… Calling. Those that watch over her realm have long mistreated those they name 'Champions'."

_xxxx_

Buffy woke with the sun in her eyes and grumpily flipped herself over to bury her head in the pillow. Then she paused, raising her head and blinking in confusion—yup, pillow. She was back in her room.

She thought hard about everything she remembered, and there was a fuzzy moment of half-awareness filled with Glori's voice and a sense of peace.

Ooh, he'd made with the mojo.

She couldn't bring herself to be angry over it, though. It had been _nice_ mojo. Meanwhile, she could really use a shower and a change of clothes…

On cue, there was a tap at the door and a dark-haired woman (Elf, again, though at this point it was hardly surprising) poked her head though the door, then smiled.

"_Mae govannen,_" she greeted, "_Ci echu."_

Buffy was completely baffled and let her visitor know with a profound "What?"

The woman stepped into the room, a light blush coloring her cheeks and not serving to diminish her beauty at all—and she was beautiful beyond anything Buffy had ever thought she'd see. "Forgive me, I forgot that you do not speak Sindarin," she smiled lightly, "I said 'Well met. You're awake.'"

"I am Arwen," she continued, showing Buffy the things she carried—a light dress and something that was probably a towel. "_Ada_ thought you might like a bath."

Buffy immediately brightened—would she ever!

Arwen laughed at her expression, a tinkling sound full of bright joy.

Buffy smiled—she could get used to listening to Elves laugh.

_xxxx_

_Sindarin:_

_Edhel—Elf (singular, masculine)_

_he—she (sing.) (Yes, there is a plural for 'she'—a feminine 'they', as it were. It's 'hi', if you're curious.)_

_mae—well_

_lhom—weary_

_He mae—She (is) well. ('To be' is implied in Sindarin when the context of a sentence is unambiguous.)_

_Ada(r)—Father_

_Sîdh—peace_

_feä—spirit (I'm not actually sure it's Sindarin, it may be Quenya.)_

_thuar—abhorrent, abominable_

_echu—'awake' This is a guess, derived from echui—awakening. Be warned._

_Forgive my use of Sindarin. A good portion of what's here has to do with my vocabulary lesson for the week—I'm such a geek._


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Once she was clean, Buffy felt significantly better. She'd gotten to slaughter some baddies and take a nice, relaxing bath. What more could a Slayer ask for?

Ooh, and a pretty brown dress. Don't forget the pretty brown dress.

The under-dress was easy to get on, but the actual dress… Buffy had no clue what to do with it. Arwen noticed the problem immediately.

"You do not often wear such dresses, I take it?" she smiled, moving over to help with the obstinate bit of clothing.

"Thanks," Buffy voice came muffled as Arwen tugged brown cloth over her head, "Not really. All the dresses I had back home were a lot simpler."

"I see," another tug and the dress came down over her head, then Arwen set about tying the strings in the back and making sure the sash sat properly.

"There," she said after a minute, turning Buffy around, "much better."

"Except the hair," Buffy added wryly, having raised a hand to brush it back from her face and encountered tangles.

Arwen laughed, "Well, we shall soon take care of that."

_xxxx_

Elrond frowned pensively, wondering if he should have brought up Glorfindel's apparent bond with the child up to his friend. He'd forgotten about it as the other Elf-Lord had brought up the Powers that watched over Buffy's old world.

He shook his head; it could wait. Though it was mildly concerning, as the girl was a child of Men, Glorfindel knew the risks.

Elrond paused at that thought. Glorfindel did indeed know the risks of bonding with one of the _Edain_ on any level—but did he realize he was in the process of doing so? It _looked_ to be the beginning of a parent-child bond and if—_when_—the girl died, Glorfindel would be heartbroken.

Yes, he needed to bring this to the Lord of Gondolin's attention.

_xxxx_

The Lord of Gondolin, at that moment, was in the gardens, reflecting over everything Buffy had told him.

That one so young would be chosen to fight such evil… it was a terrible thing. How could those who watched over her realm insist upon such a thing?

After hearing her tale, it was easy to believe that those same Powers would be careless in their moving her from one world to another.

And the child knew death, had died… twice, in fact, and been brought back both times. The second time, though… the bringing her back was an abomination. But not her fault, nor her choice, and her soul remained pure despite the dark magics wrought upon it.

"_Mellon nín,_" a familiar voice broke through his thoughts.

He turned, mildly surprised to see Elrond in the garden at this time of day.

"I should have spoken to you of this before you left…"

_xxxx_

After Elrond had left, Glorfindel had even more to think on. He hadn't realized… but then, he, too, could sense the beginnings of a bond.

He sighed softly; he needed to find Buffy. She had a right to know.

And how? Normally such bonds were possible only with others of the Eldar… but then, none such as she had ever been seen in Arda before.

With another quiet sigh, he turned to the main buildings and made his way towards the guest rooms. He would speak to the little one before dinner.

_xxxx_

Buffy and Arwen looked up from their position at the dressing table where Arwen was just finishing helping Buffy with her hair as someone knocked at the door.

Buffy glanced at Arwen and shrugged, "Come in," she called, then brightened upon seeing who it was.

"Oh, hey, Glori!"

Arwen made a choked sound and Glorfindel shook his head with a small smile at the form of address. It was too late to do anything about it at this point—he'd already allowed her to get away with it twice.

"Well met, Buffy, Arwen."

Arwen slipped something very much like a bobby pin into Buffy's hair and smiled, "Good day, Glorfindel."

"So, what's up?" Buffy fidgeted, not wanting to hold still much longer.

"Hold still," Arwen admonished, repeating her former movement on the other side of Buffy's head. "There. Finished."

"I need to speak with you, Buffy," Glorfindel admitted.

Arwen promptly excused herself.

Buffy turned to face him completely as the _Elleth_ left, and he was struck by how very different she looked when not wearing the clothes he had found her in. She looked almost like an _Elleth_ herself, despite her tanned skin.

"What's the stitch?"

Glorfindel frowned at her wording, but took it to mean she wanted to know what he needed to speak to her about. Hesitantly, he began to explain.

_xxxx_

Buffy wasn't sure how she felt about that. On the one hand, she was a little resentful of not having a choice in the matter—although, from the sound of it, Glori hadn't consciously _chosen_ to bond with her, either. It had just started to _happen._

So she couldn't very well be angry with him over it. Still…

"So…" she trailed off, "This means, what, exactly?"

Glorfindel shifted, "Would you like me to adopt you?"

Buffy froze, her brain refusing to wrap itself around the offer. She'd never thought… when she'd been told she'd be sent to another world, that she'd never be able to go back, she'd resigned herself to being alone in a new place. No friends, no family. She could make new friends, but family, she never expected to have again.

But now… _family._

"Can I get back to you on that?" she stuttered finally.

"You need not answer right away," Glorfindel assured her, knowing well that she was still hurting from being cast out by her last family. Trust might take time.

Buffy nodded, "Thanks," she said, relieved that she'd have some time to think.

Now feeling slightly awkward, Glorfindel offered a hand to the still-sitting Slayer, "Come, _tithen pen_," he smiled slightly, "it is nearly time for dinner."

Buffy immediately perked up, accepting the offered hand, "Food! Yay! And I'm _not_ that short!"

Glorfindel laughed softly, "If you may call me 'Glori', I may call you _tithen pen._"

Buffy thought that one over. "Fair enough," she agreed.

_xxxx_

_Sindarin:_

_Elleth—Elf (feminine, singular) Also translated as 'Elf-maiden'._

_So… here's the next chapter. A bit of a filler, but a necessary one. Things should pick back up soon._


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

That night, Buffy didn't sleep. It was part Slayer time-to-hunt instincts and part brain-on-overdrive. She still hadn't decided what to say to Glorfindel. She hardly knew him, but she already trusted him more than she could remember having trusted anyone so quickly.

And…

_Family._

Decision made.

But she still had the Slayer instincts problem.

Finally, Buffy sighed and got up, dressing in the tunic and leggings she'd managed to somehow convince Arwen to let her have. Though the Elf-maiden had been firmly disapproving, her father had apparently said something about it to help Buffy's case before she'd even made it.

Right now, Buffy was grateful, as they were a lot easier to deal with than the evil (though pretty) dresses. She made her way down to the practice yard—not surprisingly empty, at this time of night—and called out the Scythe.

It was time to get to know her Bonded weapon.

_xxxx_

Morning found Elrond sending for Glorfindel, looking down on the practice yards from the balcony near the library.

Buffy was going through what looked like a pattern-dance with a weapon unlike any he had before seen, moving with a swiftness and grace that was simply _impossible._

Glorfindel arrived and immediately caught sight of what had captured his friend's attention. "_Mellon nín,_" he greeted.

Elrond glanced at him, nodding in reply, "Is that the weapon you spoke of?"

Glorfindel took several moments to marvel at the little one's speed and beauty before answering. "_Ma_," he confirmed.

Elrond shook his head in wonder, "I have never seen such…" he gestured to the pattern-dance, at a loss for words.

Glorfindel smiled slightly, "Now I see how she could face seven Wargs and emerge unscathed."

Elrond nodded, "As can I, my friend. As can I."

And Buffy stopped. There was no intermediate slowing—one moment she was moving, and the next she was still. She straightened out of her fighting stance, the weapon spinning in her hands before it simply vanished.

Then she looked up at them and shook her head before turning and leaving the training field.

_xxxx_

Glorfindel found her in her rooms about an hour later, hair still wet from bathing and clad in a loose tunic and trousers, barefoot and brushing her hair.

"Were you awake all night, _tithen pen?_"

Buffy nodded, "Couldn't sleep. I figured I might as well do something useful."

Glorfindel raised an elegant eyebrow.

"Slayer thing," she explained. "Nights are when most of what I hunt comes out."

"Ah. Of course," Glorfindel remembered what she had told him. "But if this happens often…"

"Nah," Buffy shook her head, "Just sometimes. I usually get some sleep, but I don't need much."

Glorfindel nodded, understanding. She probably needed no more sleep than an Elf.

"And Glori…"

He looked up as the child set the hairbrush aside, turning to face him fully with a strange expression on her face.

"… I'd like it if you adopted me," her tone was hesitant and shy, a small smile gracing her face.

For a moment, Glorfindel didn't register what had just been said, then he smiled—an expression of bright joy.

Buffy's answering smile was actually _happy_ and Glorfindel drew the child into a hug. "I would be honored to be your father, Buffy."

_xxxx_

"_Mellon nín,_" Glorfindel greeted, eyes sparkling with joy, "I am going to adopt the little one."

Elrond glanced up sharply, but his misgivings seemed insignificant in comparison to his friend's happiness. Glorfindel knew the risks—if he was still willing, it was only because he believed the gains to be worth the eventual pain.

"When do you wish to do this?" There was a great deal of ceremony involved with actually _adopting_ a child, rather than simple fostering. Preparations would take time.

"As soon as is possible without undue haste," Glorfindel admitted.

Elrond nodded understandingly. "I will speak to Erestor about the preparations."

_xxxx_

For the first time in a long time, Buffy found herself feeling excited about something—something that didn't involve killing anything.

She set about exploring Imladris cheerfully, in a better mood than she'd been in since arriving in the Elven city. She already knew where the most important things were—dining hall, training grounds, things like that… but there were so many _more_ places.

She scampered through the halls, a silly smile on her face, peeking in the doorless rooms to see what they were and pausing at every balcony to see where she was in relation to the outside. She stopped on one balcony with a beautiful view of the waterfall and simply stood there, leaning against the railing, listening to the water and thinking.

It was actually nice being here… a place where she had no destiny. The Powers sent her through the portal, but it was whatever powers that watched over this realm that had chosen to accept her. And since they hadn't sent her a messenger, she hadn't been called on to do anything.

Yet.

And, for now, it was nice. Very nice.

But, as with all things… there was no way it could last forever.

_xxxx_

_Sindarin:_

_ma—yes_


End file.
